


Have You Got A Place To Stay

by bornfromashes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Scottish Highlands AU, and Pierce being his usual unpleasant self, extremely romance-novel approach to historical facts, mention of slavery, minimal planning and/or research, not an accurate history of Scotland, this is the most romance-novel-esque thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-18 11:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16117049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornfromashes/pseuds/bornfromashes
Summary: Steve had expected to end up working for one of the Scottish clans in exchange for food. He hadn't expected anything different from the hard labour he'd done before.He definitely hadn't expected Lord Buchanan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by [this](http://viperbranium.tumblr.com/post/177499298879/relenafanel-viperbranium-relenafanel) romance novel cover and post, and very, very loosely based on the [plot](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27161144-falling-for-the-highlander) of said novel.  
> Because honestly, we all know that's Bucky.
> 
> I didn't...really plan to write this, but here we are. I also can't believe I had to create the "Scottish Highlands AU" tag.

Okay. So, overall, debating the merits of living as a nomad was not how Steve had planned to spend his twenty-first birthday. Not that he’d been doing much planning, or even imagining. He was too tired for that, especially since coming to live with Alexander. And hadn’t that decision turned out just wonderfully.

Steve huffed and shook his head, lifting another hay bale in an effort to divert his thoughts. He didn’t need to waste energy getting worked up over his past decisions. A small cloud of dust rose up as he dropped the hay bale next to the others in the barn. Eight months he’d been here, if his count was right. Eight months of doing everything possible to make sure the keep stayed functional, even as the help slowly disappeared, either running away or run off by Alexander’s temper. Too bad Alexander never did anything useful with his anger, like maybe _bring in the hay_.

It was just him and Steve now, the cook and her husband gone last week. One too many times of Alexander throwing dishes and she’d packed her things, prepared as much of the pantry as she could for Steve, and given him a sad pat on the cheek before linking arms with her husband and walking away. Steve dragged the last of the hay bales into the shelter of the barn, hoping they’d made it safely to Carlisle Castle.

Alexander’s lands - such as they were - were close enough to the border of Scotland that he frequently warned Steve of the “marauding Scots” he had to fend off, though Steve had never seen so much as a lost wanderer, and Alexander himself never seemed to leave the keep long enough to “ensure security.” They weren’t exactly in the most populated area--the road was barely more than worn dirt. Needing anything the keep couldn’t produce meant a day-long ride to Carlisle Castle in the hopes a merchant would have it. Steve figured someone could probably make the trip in two days on foot if they really tried.

He dropped down onto a bale of hay, staring at the bales piled in the barn. What was Alexander thinking they would _do_ with it? They didn’t even have horses anymore! It wasn’t like they had neighbours who might buy it. God, he never should have left Whitehaven.

No, that wasn’t quite it. He never should have left Whitehaven _with Alexander_. Working the fishing boats in the village had kept him and his mother fed, and after she’d died the other fishermen had offered Steve shelter in exchange for labour, but it hadn’t exactly been his life dream. He loved living here in the country, seeing his hard work pay off to keep the place functional. The idea of going back to Whitehaven, living in the cramped huts and spending each day on a fishing boat wrangling nets, made his skin crawl.

About the same way that imagining the rest of his life as Alexander’s personal servant made his skin crawl, in fact. If he had any sense, he probably would have left months ago. Or not believed Alexander in the first place. But it had gotten him out of Whitehaven and the endless fishing, and he just...didn’t know. He didn’t know.

 

\---

 

_“I’m your half-brother,” the stranger said, hand still outstretched for Steve to shake. Steve tucked his own hands deliberately into the pockets of his muddy trousers._

_“You’re what.”_

_The man didn’t look even the slightest bit fazed by Steve’s flat tone as he withdrew his hand. “I realise this may be a bit of a shock, but I’ve been looking for you for months, and I am indeed your half-brother.”_

_“I don’t have any siblings,” Steve said automatically, looking him over more closely. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes, and they could maybe share a jawline, but that seemed to be where the resemblance ended. His clothing was clean, only slightly dusty from travelling, and resembled the obnoxious finery Steve saw on the occasional noble who passed through the village. A delicate blade hung sheathed at his hip. “What’d you say your name was again?”_

_“Alexander Pierce, at your service.” He bowed low, a flourishy movement Steve assumed was considered high-class. “But please, call me Alexander. I understand your skepticism, of course. My mother married, afterwards, and father was kind enough to claim me as his own son.”_

_“And you found me...how?” Steve glanced around, then sat down on one of the thick struts of the pier, leaning back to fix Alexander with a glare. Something about the man made him uneasy, and it wasn’t just the fancy clothes. At least he was fairly confident he could take him if it came to a fight, thanks to the late growth spurt that had transformed his ropy muscles into bulk. Or he could just dump Mr Fancy Outfit off the pier into the water. He tuned back in to Alexander starting in on what promised to be an excessively long tale._

_“After my parents passed away some years ago, I decided to look into the stories my mother had told me of the man who had stolen her heart. All I knew was that Grant Rogers had been a soldier in the English army, and I thought I might seek him out and see what had become of him.”_

_Steve tuned him back out._

_A grandiose hand gesture drew him out of daydreams about his mother’s beef stew, and he focused back on Alexander. “And imagine my surprise to learn that he had married, and to an Irishwoman, no less!”_

_Steve raised an eyebrow at the judgement in Alexander’s tone. A silent moment passed as the other man seemed to search for the right words._

_“Not that there’s anything wrong with the Irish, of course! It simply took me by surprise. I was pointed towards Whitehaven, and here I am. With the help of the nuns at the priory, of course, they were quite happy to tell me about Rogers’ boy, and direct me towards the fishing docks.”_

_Steve kept his face carefully blank. He hadn’t been to mass in years, not since his mother had passed away, but clearly the nuns hadn’t forgotten him. Unfortunately. They’d probably been thrilled to hear he had some sort of family who might be able to save his poor soul. He didn’t like this man, but he also didn’t particularly want to work on a fishing boat for the rest of his life._

 

_\---_

  

And that was really the crux of it, wasn’t it? He just couldn’t be sure whether Alexander was telling the truth. The lure of a life outside Whitehaven along with the chance to maybe learn more about his father had gotten him here, and a desire to help had kept him from leaving.

He didn’t care about Alexander, not anymore. The man was a debt-ridden drunk with a vicious temper, and had given Steve exactly zero reasons to care about him. He’d stayed in an effort to make life better for the other people living in the keep. Alexander was less cruel to them when he could focus his energy on Steve.

Now, with the last of the help gone...Steve reluctantly got to his feet. He’d better get started soon if they wanted to have any dinner tonight.

Climbing over the crumbling remains of the stone wall was a small effort to make in exchange for being able to sneak inside the keep through the back kitchens, where Alexander was guaranteed not to be. He pulled together two plates of food as quickly as possible, scanning what was left of the pantry. They’d gone through just about everything the cook had prepared before she left, and Steve’s talent in the kitchen only went so far.

Problem for another day, Steve told himself firmly. Not that he could solve it anyhow, he didn’t have so much as a copper penny to his name. Alexander’s plate he left in the dining room before taking the stairs up to his room two at a time. He’d made it to the upper landing before his tired brain registered voices coming from the entrance hall. _Multiple_ voices, and he nearly dropped his plate in surprise. When did Alexander decide to start hosting guests?

Steve eased down to sit on the top step, taking a bite of his bread. After a moment the voices started up again.

“I’ve given you plenty of chances, Pierce. And _more_ than plenty of time.”

“I only need a few weeks more. I don’t just have that kind of coin lying around.” Alexander sounded more concerned than Steve had ever heard him. Creditors, then. Good ones too, Alexander was usually quite skilled at avoiding them.

“That’s the same excuse you gave last time I came to collect.” The stranger’s voice was lower, carrying a hint of threat. A pause.

“Two weeks. That’s all I need.” Alexander was placating now, the voice he used when he wanted to get out of doing something.

“Two weeks, Pierce. Or I start finding other ways to collect.” Steve knew a dismissal when he heard one. He almost wanted to lean over and try to get a look at Alexander’s face, confronted with someone dismissing him in his own home. The heavy front door creaked open, and Steve scrambled to his feet and into his room before Alexander could come looking for him. He had a bad feeling about this whole situation.

He was lying on the straw pallet that passed for his bed, debating whether to risk taking his plate back down to the kitchen, when the door banged open. Alexander had a slightly wild look in his eyes that Steve had come to associate with things being thrown, usually at him. Steve sat upright, pulling the plate closer in case he needed to use it as a shield, but Alexander was already starting in on an explanation.

“Look,” Steve interrupted after a minute, knowing he would pay for it later and utterly not caring. “I don’t care why you’re in debt, I really don’t. What I want to know is why in the hell you’re telling me about it. I can’t pay it off.”

“Steven, Steven.” Even wild-eyed, Alexander managed to sound condescending. “You’re not going to pay it off. I just need you to do a bit of work for me. Nothing difficult.”

The crazed look didn’t go away as Alexander explained his plan for paying off this particular creditor. Well, paying off the creditor, double crossing at least one Scottish clan, and Steve spending a good two weeks in someone else’s service. Steve pulled his legs up to his chest, feeling slightly ill. “In someone else’s service” was a nice way for Alexander to say he was basically selling him into slavery to pay off this debt. Only he expected Steve to run away from his new master after a few weeks and come crawling back to Alexander.

He tried to focus. Alexander was still talking, some nonsense about needing a target who couldn’t retaliate. If he sold Steve to an Englishman the man could just come take Steve back, but the Scotsmen couldn’t try that without breaking the fragile peace between them and England. Or so Alexander claimed. Steve had a feeling it wasn’t quite that black and white.

“Of course, the barbarians don’t rely on coin like we do. They barter things, if you can imagine.” The amount of disgust in Alexander’s tone was actually a little impressive. “So I’ll barter for a pair of good Scottish horses, and sell the horses to a noble in Carlisle, who will pay with the coin I need.”

He paused, and after a long moment of silence Steve realised he was waiting for a response. “Right. Of course.”

“Excellent!” Alexander actually rubbed his hands together. “I’ll begin preparations right away. Do stay in good condition, alright?”

He swanned out of the room, leaving Steve staring blankly at the door. After a minute Steve dropped his plate to the floor and laid down, dragging his blanket over his head. Maybe this would make more sense after he’d slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So updates will hopefully be more frequent. I generally write by hand, but I'm trying to type this up at a more consistent rate.
> 
> I know I said I was going to do minimal research for this, but then I spent two hours looking up what kinds of horses would have been common in the early middle ages. I might overcommit to projects. Anyway, the kind of quality horses I'm using here would have looked similar to modern-day Freisians.

It did not make more sense after a night of sleep.

The next several days, in fact, passed in a haze of disbelief, both at Alexander’s ludicrous plan and the fact that he was perfectly fine with  _ selling Steve. _ Like livestock. Now would be a good time to run away, Steve told himself. Not like he knew where he would go, and of course Alexander was sure to chase him down. And anyone he went to for help would likely turn him back over to Alexander, and still end up suffering for helping Steve. The lord of Carlisle Castle would probably be a safe bet, but the lord of Carlisle Castle would also have zero reason to help a random peasant. And he didn’t really want to try living in the city. He enjoyed being out in the country.

Maybe he would get lucky and no one would respond to whatever offers Alexander had made. Steve couldn’t be positive, but he had a feeling that “trading potential relative for good horses” wouldn’t be that appealing of an offer. Alexander had to have offered something else, at least initially.

He could maybe go north, see if one of the Scottish clans would let him work for his keep. The only problem being, he knew exactly nothing about Scotland, only that it was north of England and supposedly uncultured. He’d probably end up lost and dead in a lake somewhere. Steve shook his head, blinking sweat out of his eyes, and brought the axe down again to split a log cleanly in two.

He’d been up since before dawn, sneaking a chunk of bread from the kitchen before creeping out into the yard, hoping the effort of chopping firewood would help to clear his head. It hadn’t really helped, but now he had more firewood than they could possibly need for the next several weeks. Steve sank the axe into the chopping block and swiped his arm across his forehead.

Squinting in the midday sun, Steve picked up a pile of logs to move them to the actual stack of firewood leaning against the side of the keep. Steve was staring at the stacked logs, trying to figure out the best way to add to the pile without it all tumbling down, when he was distracted by a rhythmic pounding that seemed to shake the ground. A couple steps let him peer into the front courtyard, where four gleaming horses had pulled to a stop in front of the keep. Steve nearly dropped his armload of wood.

A few quick, stumbling steps backwards put him up against the remnants of the stone wall. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen horses in such good condition - even after what must have been days of dusty travel their coats shone in the sun. Only two bore riders, men in richly coloured plaid, striking against the glossy black of their mounts. Steve couldn’t make out much of their faces, only that one had long hair and the other short, and both had the kind of muscle that suggested hard work. The long-haired rider handed his reins to the other and gracefully swung to the ground, briefly facing towards Steve before turning to enter the keep.

A few pieces of wood slid out of Steve’s arms.

The resulting clatter jerked Steve out of his daze and he hurried to stack the logs haphazardly on the existing pile, his cheeks burning. God, he clearly needed to get out more. Living alone with Alexander was not doing his social skills any favours. It was just, no one had mentioned the Scots were so  _ beautiful _ ? Steve beat a hasty retreat from the courtyard, firmly squashing the desire to peek over his shoulder as he left. Alexander was so far unaware that he enjoyed the company of men, and Steve intended to keep it that way. Which would not happen if he got caught staring red-faced at their guest.

Steve was halfway through the kitchens when his brain caught up with him, and he promptly tripped over his own feet and nearly fell. The Scotsmen had to be here about Alexander’s offer, whatever it was. They were here to buy Steve.

_ It wouldn’t be so bad, being owned by him, _ came the instant thought. Steve shook his head as though he could forcibly knock the idea out of it. He had to leave. He’d hoped there wouldn’t be anyone interested, but clearly he’d been wrong. He didn’t have a plan or a place to go, but here definitely wasn’t safe anymore.

There wasn’t much left in the pantry, but Steve piled the rest of the dried venison onto a cloth along with a loaf of bread and tied the whole bundle together, tucking it under his arm. He’d need to come back through the kitchens to get out of the keep, but better to already have the food rather than risk forgetting it.

Sneaking around the keep was second nature by this point, as Steve crept down the empty halls to get to his room. He held his breath past the dining room, as if that would keep him hidden from Alexander and his guests, and then nearly had a heart attack when someone slammed their hands down on the table.

“This is not the offer I first received!” The voice was deep, with a thick Scottish accent, and the speaker was undeniably pissed off. Alexander started speaking almost immediately, coaxing, wheedling, intent on still getting what he wanted despite the setback. Steve gritted his teeth and forced himself back into motion, up the stairs and into his room.

He didn’t have much in terms of belongings. Never had. It had never really mattered before, but now he was grateful. The bag he’d brought along from Whitehaven was just large enough to hold a spare tunic and trousers and the thick woven blanket he slept under, and he crammed the pack of food in on top. It wasn’t anywhere near cold enough for him to need his travel cloak, but he wrapped it over his shoulders anyway and slung the bag over top of it.

Steve paused to glance around the room, the empty stone walls staring back at him. He certainly wouldn’t miss it, but that didn’t make striking out into the unknown less terrifying. No use putting it off any longer. Besides, he was sure this wasn’t the dumbest decision he’d ever made. Probably. Maybe.

He took a deep breath and turned around, leaving the room behind and sneaking down the stairs and out of the keep. He could hear Alexander still talking quietly as he passed the dining room, which meant he had at least a bit of a head start before anyone came looking for him. Steve clambered over the wall and readjusted his bag, pulling his cloak up over his head to help keep the sun off his face, and struck out for the unknown north.


End file.
